


The Blood of the Prophets

by Miss_sunfire



Series: One Shots [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bellamione cult team chaos, Blood Kink, Blood Magic, Blood and Torture, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Creature Fic, Creature Hermione Granger, Demons, Discord: Bellamione Cult, Dubious Consent, F/F, Malfoy Manor, One Shot, Sane Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 16:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20820176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_sunfire/pseuds/Miss_sunfire
Summary: Hermione felt an itch under her skin. A buzz of energy needing to be let out. It built and built as the monsters in the shadows around her shouted encouragement. Blood! They said. Blood is the answer! Slice the pale flesh open! Drink it down!Hermione shivered, scared. She was, after all, only 7, and she was so, so scared.





	The Blood of the Prophets

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all - so, surgery went very well, but recovery is slow. I'm resting at home for at least another week, but mostly that means I'm at home with my laptop and I've been writing a bunch. Ergo, have a daemon hermione oneshot. Going to also get back to writing a new direction soon!

* * *

Hermione Jean Granger was a very, very special little girl in a very, very unfortunate situation. 

Part of that situation, of course, was the fact that Hermione was a witch. After all, few parents know how to properly discipline a misbehaving child who could teleport out of timeout, or float their toys over from the box they’d been hidden away in. Many parents, such as her father, might even been afraid of such unnatural occurrences. It might lead they to become distrustful and resentful of their own children. Especially ones they suspected already. The unsettling feeling of being below another on the food chain overpowering whatever emotional bond they may have formed based on the blood they purportedly shared.

Then again, the fact that she was a witch was a very, very small part of her current problem. More of an exacerbating factor really.

The fact was, Hermione’s parents Jean and Henry Granger probably shouldn’t have gotten married. Certainly they shouldn’t have gotten married just out of school. Certainly they shouldn’t have gotten married just to appease the demands of their well to do families. Certainly they should have spent more than a few months to really get to know each other and how their lives might intermingle. Certainly they should have let the buzz and high of a new relationship wear off before committing themselves to a lifetime of living and working together. 

Unfortunately for Hermione, they had done all of those things. 

The fact was, barely a month after their honeymoon the relationship of Jean and Henry had started to utterly collapse. Henry worked long hours at his Dentistry practice. Jean got absorbed by her research into new oral care techniques and practices. Some of which lead to high profile papers and publications which she simply had to present at a series of important conferences of orthodontists. All of which lead to more opportunities and more travelling. Busy with their own separate lives, neither of Hermione’s parents had the time to give each other the love and attention they wanted. Weekly date nights became biweekly romantic dinners at home became monthly nights in with a cuppa by the telly became infrequent seasonal attempts at emotional reconciliation.

Of course, though all of this, the sex pretty much dried up. Neither Jean or Henry stayed faithful or abstinent. A roving series of mistresses span through their stately home. Meanwhile the traditional dinner and drinks among colleagues at conferences turned into the occasional drunken one night stand. While it was _technically_ true that one of Jean and Henry’s bi-annual attempts to reconcile eight months before Hermione’s birth had included makeup sex… it was also right after Jean returned from a conference wherein she had gotten particularly wasted. She hardly remembered a thing of who she went home with. Simply striking eyes and a sharp-toothed smile. 

All of which lead up to the unfortunate situation Hermione found herself faced with. 

The seven year old girl had been feeling itchy and twitchy all day. There was an energy buzzing under her skin and in the air, like the world was holding its breath. Like a storm was about to roll in, held at bay by just the thinnest veil of force. All through school Hermione had scratched at her arms, trying unconsciously to pull the buzzing sensation out. It got so bad that her teacher decided decided to send her home early during the last period of the day. Since, clearly, she had come down with something, or was allergic to something, and should go to a doctor. 

Of course, halfway home, the annoying buzz under her skin had turned into a painful, grating pulse. Like someone was dragging a cheese grater over her skin. Whimpering in pain, the young girl had looked for help up and down the street of her gated community. Unfortunately, the numerous wealthy housewives were firmly inside their homes, watching their soaps while their husbands and children had yet to return from home for the day. 

The monsters in the shadows were no help. All they wanted to do was shout encouragement to her. Telling her that everything would be better if she could just get the itch _out_ of her skin. 

Huffing a frustrated sigh, the bushy haired girl looked around for anything that could scratch the itch out of her skin more effectively. In her poor, painfilled frenzy, the first thing she saw she reached for. Unfortunately, picking up a broken beer bottle with shaking, clumsy hands was not her best idea. The girl yelped in pain as she fumbled the glass, slicing open her palm. 

Warm, red blood welled up out of the long gash, dripping down her palm and landing on the ground. Tears welled up in the girls eyes as far from helping, the buzzing only got worse and worse. She needed something to make it stop, to get whatever was under her skin _out._

With a vicious _growl_ she brought her palm to her face. Her lips latched around the wound and she sucked the blood into her mouth, hoping to avoid getting her pretty dress stained. After all, staining her things was a fast ticket to getting in trouble and getting spanked by her Daddy. Which she hated and never ever ever wanted to have happen again. 

He could get a bit scary when he was mad and Momma was away after all. 

Seconds after the blood slipped down her gullet, the young girls entire world shifted. An electric jolt rushed through her body as the buzz turned into an inferno of heat in her blood and bones. Far from painful or annoying, it was... warm and made her head go a bit fuzzy. Like that time she tripped down the stairs and Dr. Jillian had given her happy pills while she set her broken leg. 

Only, instead of just getting all relaxed and calm like before, instead her breath caught in her throat and her heart bounced like a jack rabbit in her chest. Her vision went all funny and black before she flashed to...not where she actually was. 

Honestly, Hermione was just so, so confused and overwhelmed. She had no idea what was happening to her as a series of places, locations and events flashed before her eyes. She watched herself in the kitchen with Momma and Daddy like she was a ghost, floating by their shoulder. Only, Momma wasn’t happy like she usually was when she got home from her trips. No, her and Daddy were shouting and scary and Hermione kinda just wanted to hide away and close her eyes. 

So she did.

It didn’t help. She kept seeing whatever scary thing it was even with her eyes firmly locked shut. Including watching herself cower by the dinner table when her Daddy rounded on her and started yelling questions and accusations at her. He wanted her to tell him if what Momma was saying was true, or if she was lying. 

The other Hermione was crying and shaking back and forth like she knew she did when she got overwhelmed with too many feelings. Her Momma and Daddy never really understood when she told them, but sometimes she could just _feel_ what other people felt. Like how right now she just knew her daddy was this frustrated ball of wrongness that she would later call suspicion, jealousy, rage and resentment. She somehow just _knew_ that he didn’t believe Momma and never would. That whatever was wrong between them had been festering for so long that now it was unavoidable and consuming everything that was good and caring about her Daddy.

Kinda like the boogeyman her parents always told her didn’t exist. Not that she ever believed them though. After all, her parents were stupid and couldn’t see any of the things that went bump in the night. Not like Hermione anyway. After all, she could _see_ their dark tiny bodies, all gnobbly and wobbly like gollum in her favorite book. She saw how the shadows shifted and moved in the dark hours of the night. She saw how their dark gold slitted eyes sometimes stared at her from her closet. She heard the cracked rumbling voices that whispered reassurances to her. She trusted them implicitly, and they said that though there may be truly frightening monsters in the dark, they were there to protect Hermione. 

After all, she was such a special special girl. So rare and important and worthy of protection and training. For what she wasn’t sure, but the loudest voice’s old car engine rumble had soothed some fundamental thing deep inside her, so she didn’t worry about it too much. 

From there, whatever vision thing she was seeing seemed to almost...split. The cacophony of sights and sounds made her head hurt, but she somehow seemed to be aware of two seperate other Hermione’s. They were connected to the real her somehow, yet they really weren’t. Like flies caught in two different sections of a spiders web. Thin, wispy glowing strands of...something she couldn’t name ran from her towards the two other Hermione’s, but none ran between between them. 

Somehow she knew, with absolute certainty, that if she chose to follow the strand to either other Hermione, it’d be impossible to change her mind and swap to the other. She knew, somehow, that regardless of what she wanted, time would not stand still and she’d be forced to choose one or the other. The strings of possibilities and other Hermione’s spinning off from her left no other option. 

Something in her tiny body rebelled at the idea. Why in such a big and scary world could there only be two choices or outcomes to whatever this was? Dimly she was aware of a swirling set of hundreds, maybe thousands of small divergences from these two main paths. However, she could barely graze them with her too small consciousness. Still, she could see the outline they left. She could see how all those infinite threads and paths eventually converged into the two main paths, forming thick ropes of possibility. 

Diverging in a branch from this very moment. 

With a gasp she found herself collapsed on the ground back in her body. Glancing down fearfully she saw the cut on her hand had already healed. She couldn’t even pretend to herself it was a dream though, as a crust of dried blood remained on the offending limb. The shadows around her shifted and rose up. They whispered to her, congratulated her on such an important milestone, they urged her forward, to make a decision and take the web of fate firmly in hand. 

To embrace her power and create her own destiny.

She whimpered, feeling scared of the shadows for the first time in her life. Despite their warm rumbling assurances that they meant no harm, this was all so new and so big and she was so, so scared. With a groan of pain, the young girl pulled herself back up to her feet. She dragged herself over to the car parked on the street and used the window as a mirror.

She gasped and choked off a frightened scream at what she saw.

Her warm honey brown eyes were no more. In their place were pure black orbs, enveloping even the whites in shimmering darkness. Even looking into her own gaze felt like staring into some infinite void. The dark depths writhed and pulsed with an iridescent glow. Like a vast oil slicked ocean disturbed by the wake of the great leviathan the pastor at church had talked about. They seemed filled with a waiting tension, like they were just waiting for unsuspecting prey to wade into their murky depths, only to be swallowed whole. The whole effect was disturbing and Hermione had never seen anything quite like it. 

Even still, it could only distract her so long from all the other incredible changes that had taken place over her face. She noticed with alarm that tears of scarlet blood ran down her cheeks. Only, instead of sliding over pale skin they became caught and matted into soft golden fur that had spread over her face. Even worse, her mouth and nose protruded out into a small muzzle filled with tiny sharp fangs. Two nubbly little white horns, just starting to curl back on themselves, poked their way out of her bushy mane of hair. Now however it was a much lighter brunette, almost golden. After trying to flex her toes she realized she couldn’t feel them. She cast her gaze down more carefully, and noticed a set of hooves stretching out her sneakers and that her fingernails had gotten all long and pointy. 

Sheer and utter panic filled her as she started to hyperventilate. She looked like some weird cross between a lion and a goat and it felt so right, but she knew she couldn’t stay that way. Not even just that, but she looked like a _boy_ lion with the big bushy mane of hair spilling down her neck. Sure, in her experience, nobody _else_ would be observant enough to catch that detail. Still, while she thought it looked quite pretty (and maybe a little adorable), she knew Daddy would be so, so _mad._ She couldn’t let him see her like this everything had to absolutely go back to _normal._

In her blind panic she felt a push of something just below her navel and a warm tingly sensation briefly flooded her body. In a flash the horns and fur slid back into her skin, as if they were never there. Her eyes lightened back to their normal honey brown and all her features all shifted back to much more human proportions. The shadows cried out in sad but understanding tones. Assuring her they understood and that it wasn’t time yet, but it would be soon.

For what, she didn’t want to find out. 

Hermione ran. Ran as hard as she could away from the whispers like hunting dogs were chasing on her heels. Ran back home and dodged into the bathroom to clean the blood up and make sure nobody would notice anything. Hearing a noise a few minutes later, she wandered upstairs to find Momma home early from her work trip. Only, instead of making her a snack like she usually did when Hermione got home from school, Hermione found her upstairs with Momma’s friend Jack. 

Though, she was pretty confused, since Momma and Jack were doing that special wrestling thing she’d found Daddy doing with his secretary. The one he’d said was a super important secret that nobody could know about. Why did Momma also know about the secret? Who was supposed to be doing it with who? 

It didn’t make any sense.

Unfortunately for Hermione, from there on things seemed to spin out of control. Jack left in a hurry, but ran into Henry on the way out. The embers of suspicion and jealousy Hermione had been feeling from her Daddy for weeks flared to life as the man rounded on her Momma. 

The ensuing screaming, shouting fight neatly mirrored Hermione’s vision from earlier. She spent the entire time curled up and rocking in her corner of the kitchen, trying to be small and unnoticed. Even still, her brain couldn’t help but think forward, knowing that in a few short minutes she’d have to make a final decision. To choose which path she’d go forwards down. 

Hermione’s Daddy rounds on her, his expression filled with jealous rage as he shouted in her face. He demanded to know what Hermione had seen, to know what Jean and Jack had been doing earlier. Hermione took a shuddering breath, and made a feeble squeak as she tried to answer. 

“Well? What did you see?” Henry growled out, stomping his foot on the floor. 

“Henry please! You’re scaring her, she’s not part of this!” Jean argued. 

From here Hermione knows she has two choices. Her first instinct is to be a good little girl. Momma had asked her not to tell her father anything after all, and she’d do anything to make her Momma happy. Maybe then she’d stay home more and not leave Hermione alone with Daddy all the time. Hermione thinks that a truly good girl would follow her wishes and say that her and Jack had just been having coffee and chatting about work. Her other option is to be honest. To fess up and tell her Daddy that Momma and Jack were doing that special wrestling thing he and his secretary do. 

What she remembers from her weird vision isn’t particularly clear. The things that stuck out in her mind was what would happen in the immediate future based on her choice. Everything else is just vague impressions of what might happen later down the line. 

The first choice is easier she knows, but she got a swoopy unpleasant feeling in the bottom of her tummy thinking of what might happen later on. Lying to help Momma wouldn’t stop Henry from being mad, but he’d take a deep breath and calm himself down. At least for the moment. She knew though, that lying for her Momma would make him harden his feelings into a vicious lump of anger that she didn’t think would never truly melt. She remembers vague flashes of him never believing anything she or Momma says ever again. Of Momma just being so, so _tired,_ _sad_ and _defeated_ all the time. She half remembers innumerable flashes of shouting and hitting and crashing. What truly scared her though was the way the glowing light of strand seemed to dim and unravel the further along she followed from the thread. 

She couldn’t bring herself to even try looking at what might happen further down the line. 

She makes the second choice. Revealing that both Momma and Daddy have been doing the special wrestling with different people. For a second Momma looks at her in shock, an expression of hurt and betrayal on her face. It’s gone in a flash though, before Momma shifts her attention to Daddy.

Who just got really, really scary and really, really angry. Enough that even her brave Momma got really scared. Only, with this choice, Momma got scared before she was too tired to care about it anymore. Enough that the very next day Hermione and Momma packed their bags and left home with Hermiones when Daddy was away at work. Enough that Momma and Daddy got “divorced” and Daddy didn’t like them and didn’t want to see either of them anymore. 

Hermione thought that, on the whole, it was pretty sad, but turned out for the best. Momma made more of an effort to be around for Hermione, and their relationship was closer than ever. That didn’t even change when Momma started dating her best girlfriend Kate from college. There was no more shouting or hitting or people being scary. Instead they were just people making their way in the world. They had the _best_ movie nights, where Hermione got to watch all the old documentaries Daddy always thought were boring. And and and they went camping in the summers! And made the _best_ s’mores! Plus Momma and her girlfriend were always happy to roll with whatever weird things their little girl did. Like when she did her magic thing to clear all the dishes instead of doing the chore herself. 

Or set her mean English teacher’s hair on fire.

(They thought it was funny. He’d been sneering down his nose at Momma and Kate during parent teacher night after all)

The best part was how incredibly excited and proud Momma was when a certain letter arrived by owl on Hermione’s 11th birthday. 

* * *

Eventually of course, Hermione had to grow up. Some things are never forgotten though. Especially not freaky magical powers that let you see part of the future. In fact, the older Hermione got and the longer she was at Hogwarts, the more she explored and tried to learn about her unique gift.

It wasn’t exactly easy. Especially since divination class was a complete and utter fucking sham. Not to mention the woeful divination section of the Hogwarts library. All they ever seemed to talk about were tea leaves, star signs and mysterious all important “prophecies.” Declarations, seemingly out of nowhere, of some future event that absolutely _would_ happen exactly _this_ way. In Hermione’s firm opinion, whatever bits and pieces weren’t just fanciful imagining and confirmation bias were so bloody vague they weren’t even helpful

What was the point of a prophecy if you couldn’t do anything about it after all! It was such a load of tripe. There were no blood rituals, no tangled web of fate, no infinite spiraling futures or branches in causality. She got so goddamn utterly frustrated with the whole bloody field, and Trelawney in particular. Bloody drunken sham. 

Who the hell would give _anything_ that cunt says even the slightest hint of credence?! Let alone anybody in a position of authority or even the barest lick of sense.

Plus the monsters in the shadows nobody else could see, ever Hermione’s faithful companions, seemed content to just snicker at her dramatics. Honestly, their constant silent snark and teasing of the woman almost made divination class bearable enough to stay enrolled. Almost. Still, rather than provide her with any actually _helpful_ information, the shadows just insisted she needed to figure it all out herself and stop being such a baby.

She loved them as the only true, unwavering friends she’d ever had, but dear merline, sometimes they were unhelpful cunts. 

Clearly, Hermione was on her own once again to figure it out, and god dammit, she was going to experiment and research her way to understanding one way or the other. It would have been harder not to honestly. Her skin was practically almost always buzzing with some new vision or another. Sometimes, like when the basilisk was roving the school it got so painful and all consuming it was all she could do not to slash open her skin to gulp down her hot blood in the middle of the common room. 

Thank Merlin Hogwarts had woefully inadequate student welfare programs is all she’s saying. 

Still, within the first few years Hermione had seemingly learned most of what she could on her own about her abilities. She could swap between her more leonin and human forms without drinking her blood, which honestly was super useful. It seemed to convey all sorts of benefits, most of which didn’t transfer over to when she was just regular human passing Hermione. Her sense of taste and smell had vastly improved since coming to Hogwarts. She was far stronger, magically and physically. She also healed faster and without scarring, which was a godsend for all the times she had to cut her skin open to make sure her idiot friends didn’t get themselves killed. 

Not that that was easy, even with the gift of fucking foresight. 

What frustrated her though, was how limited her vision seemed to be. Anything further out than a few hours just got too hazy and complicated to really make much out of. She could still tell when major branches and decisions were coming, but getting a detailed sense of their longer term consequences was beyond her. Mostly she just relied on (usually roughly accurate) gut feelings about which choices would lead to the best outcomes. It still fucking sucked having to walk right into stupid traps and danger, knowing it was the only way for everything to come out right in the end though. 

Frankly Hermione’s still a little bitter about the time she got too focused in the library trying to understand why she kept seeing a damn giant snake in her visions. She had ignored the buzz in her skin creeping up and up as she sat there and finally realized it was a bloody basilisk. In a school! Full of 12 year olds! The Dumbledore hadn’t sent home! By the time she’d ripped the page out from the book, the branch point had already come and gone. There was no possible way for her to get herself out of the library without either being petrified or dying. 

At least missing that particular vision hadn’t killed her. 

Then came the french bitch. 

Not that Fleur was a bitch, or mean, or really almost any of the things Lavender and the other girls said about her. The french witch was _unfailingly_ polite to Hermione. Often going out of her way to sit next to her and engage with Hermione in the library. A feat which was rare enough outside of the boys to be worthy of note. It was something that she was especially glad about, since being on the outs with Ron and worrying herself to death over Harry and the tournament had left her...lonely. 

It helped that the blonde was so, so incredibly pretty, and smart, and she smelled nice, like wildflowers and spice. Hermione had a tough time keeping herself in regular human form around Fleur. Really, all she wanted to do is curl up with her head in the french witch’s lap and let out the happy purrs that were always building in her throat around her. Fleur would smile at her in that fond and exasperated way she did whenever Hermione ruffled her clothing. Then she’d run her slender fingers through Hermione’s thick hair and drag her nails across her scalp in that _amazing_ way that only Fleur could.

Hermione’s vision of heaven, all that year, was falling asleep in that position. Fleurs delightful accent would be purring away in her ears as the french witch read aloud to Hermione. Fleur always seemed to have some new tome on her person. Usually about fascinating and rare bits of magic that described entire fields and disciplines Hermione had barely even _heard_ of. Idly, the teen wondered if Fleur might not have been picking them up as presents just for Hermione. She always seemed more interested in getting Hermione’s opinions about the content of them than in reading the books herself. 

That would be silly and full of herself to assume though. After all, Hermione was just a mousy little bookworm and Fleur was the divinely beautiful goddess that she was. 

No Fleur was a bitch because she knew that Hermione knew that she knew something, yet she wasn’t willing to spill. Every time Hermione came to the library to research divination it was all “oh, you won’t find anything about _real_ prophecy in any of these books” and “oh, well you’d find more helpful information in some of the old family libraries.” Fleur would never actually give her a straight answer about anything. Merely humming and hawing about how humans just wouldn’t understand “real divination.” The veela’s smug superior smirk made Hermione want to sink her fangs into those pale lips. Or maybe angry kiss them, though she is _not_ a lesbian and she has no idea where that thought could come from.

Seriously! She may never have been particularly into...boys or whatever, but that didn’t automatically mean she was into girls!

Needless to say, the first major branching point in the web of fate that year was who Hermione chose to accept to the yule ball. She could live in denial and accept Victor’s invitation. Ron would feel immediately emasculated and defensive. His jealousy would start of a vicious fight that would linger over their friendship like a bad stench. Orrrr, she could accept the realization that she was super hecking gay and wanted to snog the tar out of Fleur. A decision that was a heck of a lot easier knowing her mom would actually support it. 

Option number 2 for 100 Alex!

Which turned out to be absolutely the right choice. After all, not only did she get to have her first kiss with the beautiful older student that night, but Ron was significantly less of a pillock. Insecure man child he may be, but homophobic he actually wasn’t. Surprisingly enough he merely blinked a couple of times before giving Hermione a big smile and a hug, genuinely happy for her. The very night he accepted the realization that Hermione would never be his and shifted his romantic attention to significantly more fruitful endeavors. Plus, she also _finally_ figured out where all the visions were coming from. 

Well, Fleur did anyway. 

As was unfortunately typical for Hermione, bouts of heightened emotion wrought havoc on her control over her form. It was honestly surprising she hadn’t slipped up and let her more feline side out before now, but something’s gotta give eventually. In this case, Hermione accidentally shifted her fangs out not entirely chaste first snog, turning an inexperienced if enthusiastic kiss into a scratched lip for Fleur.

Which let warm, lovely, delicious _perfect_ blood bubble up and slip past Hermione’s throat. A loud pleased growl ripped it’s way from the teen’s throat as she suckled on that perfect liquid. Something about Fleur’s blood was...full of restrained energy, like a dark cloud, poised to let loose a blast of lightning upon an unsuspecting town. It was intoxicating and filled Hermione with a sort of manic energy that sent her spiralling and spinning the web of fate. She saw further and clearer than she ever had before, seeing choices and branches all the way towards the end of the school year. 

Unfortunately, even the best strands seemed to end with Harry in a graveyard facing down a revived Voldemort. 

Hermione found herself crying and sobbing as tears of scarlet blood ran down her furred face. Ultimately it seemed like she was a minor player in play of destiny. Nothing more than a pawn on a chessboard. At no point in the next year could she exert significant enough pressure to change any of the major events. She didn’t have the authority or clout to actually get anybody to believe her or take her seriously. If she tried to expose the polyjuiced imposter teaching DADA she’d find herself laughed out of Dumbledore’s office, or meeting an “unfortunate accident” or worse. 

Fleur was, perhaps understandably concerned when her girlfriend started weeping mid snog. Though, the furry features didn’t really seem to phase her. After all, Veela had a habit of shifting into half bird creatures when they got overwhelmed.

What followed was a very long, in-depth conversation where Hermione fessed up to things she’d never told anyone else before. Fleur was an intent and a surprisingly good listener. Nodding along and prompting Hermione to continue whenever she faltered as she explained her past and strange powers. The teen stuttered and stumbled forward as she talked about how scared and confused she was all the time. How she’d realized eventually that she was probably the product of an affair between her Mom and some sort of humanoid magical creature, but that she could never figure out what kind. Nor could she figure out and research how her gift to see the future worked. 

“Ah, Oui. I zink ze answer is rather simple. ‘Erhmiohnee, you, my dear, are a tiefling seer. Your Father was probably a daemon of some sort.” The blonde witch had said, nodding seriously as if she hadn’t just shifted Hermione’s entire world on its axis. 

Incredulous at first, the idea slowly began to make more sense as Hermione dimly recalled some of the older biblical texts she’d read as a kid. Some of which talked about the complex hierarchy and different types of angels, seraphim and cherubim. She vaguely recalled some of her early reading suggesting that some types of the creatures may have taken animal forms, or even combined several. Since daemons were just fallen angels, would it really be so farfetched that they’d present similarly. Unfortunately, she’d never seriously considered the possibility before, since she’d assumed the more popular depictions in muggle culture would be accurate, and hadn’t double checked on the magical side. A silly mistake, in hindsight.

Thankfully, Fleur did manage to contain Hermione’s panic attack about being descended from literal _daemons_ with soothing touches and understanding coos. 

As the teen would come to understand over the next several days of frantic researching (much more successful now, with Fleurs all access pass to the restricted section that all champions received) veela, tieflings, vampires, werewolves and numerous other sentient magical beings had all been rolled up into the ministries definition of “dark creatures.” This came with all sorts of baggage and oppression. As such there was a certain amount of solidarity between the normally disparate groups. Her relationship with Fleur would quickly become one of the strongest, most stable rocks in Hermione’s life. She was folded into the Delacour family to be brought up to speed on the requirements and dangers of being a magical creature. Since, _technically_, the ministry rule was that tieflings like Hermione in particular should be immediately hung at the neck until dead if discovered. 

Luckily, the ministry was _completely_ incompetent at this goal, like they were at basically everything else they set their minds to. 

It wasn’t as if tieflings or even daemons in general were evil or violent. They wouldn’t go on killing sprees, or feed on innocent villages or anything. They were however creatures of blood and destiny. Intrinsically linked with illegal ritual magics. They drew strength from sacrifices of blood, which enhanced their magic. The stronger the creature they fed from, the stronger the daemon became. They were among the few creatures whose minds could be expanded enough to pierce the veil of fate and explore it’s tangled web. 

Humans were so narrow minded and simple as to barely be able to divine what they might have for lunch, let alone what might happen years in the future. The combination of daemons needing a “gross” secondary food source to run their powers and being wildly more powerful and influential than humans was more than enough to turn the ministry against them. Humans never did like feeling small or like they were anything other than masters of their own destinies after all. 

All of which made Hermione feel _vastly_ better about heading down Knockturn during her next trip to diagon and stocking up on daemonology, blood magic, and ritual sacrifice textbooks.

You know, for some light summer reading. For purely academic purposes, since it was her family history after all. 

* * *

Bellatrix was on guard. Unsettled and wary in a way the normally manic woman almost never was. Malfoy manor had been living under _his_ occupation for years now. The ministry had fallen, and all that was left was a pitiful token resistance. Surely wittle Potty and his friends would be brought to heel soon. After that, nothing could possibly stand in their way. 

She should have felt brazen and strong. She should have been filled with glorious purpose. The corrupt, useless, bigoted muggle loving ministry was no longer around to oppress and control those like her. The dark and powerful creatures of the world could finally spread their wings and step into society proper. No longer would they have to hide and bow and scrape their way through life. Afraid of the aurors bursting down the door at any point. She should have been preparing, planning and shaping the institutions of this new world. She should have been boasting and toasting their success with Cissy and Drommie (who she still maintained a secret, if strained correspondence with). 

Instead the dark lord’s right hand, the darkest, most violent witch of her age, was giving the remaining death eaters and snatchers a show. The cunts were snickering and joking under their breath as she jumped at the empty shadows around them. Calling her mad, crazy and unstable. 

Only, the shadows weren’t quite so empty for her. She was, after all, a powerful vampire from a pureblood clan. Bella, was, of course, Britain’s _foremost_ expert on ritual blood magic in this day and age. Practically since birth she’d trained, researched and experimented with powerful blood rituals. Many of which focused on enhancing her own strength in magic and body. She’d even conquered the scourging power of the sun, creating a ritual ensuring the future freedom and power of vampires everywhere. Even the Dark Lord was but a novice compared to the depth and breadth of her experience, knowledge and power. 

Allowing herself to see the harbingers of the pit became an important goal for Bella. The usually invisible and non-corporeal lesser daemon’s were far from the most powerful of creatures. They preferred to avoid any direct conflict, instead hiding in shadows to whisper into the subconscious of magical beings in order to direct and guide the flow of fate for the betterment of hell. As an independent witch who was the master of her own destiny, avoiding their subtle influence was important to her. 

There were also times, like today, when they were valuable sources of information. All day the shadows had been agitated and shifted. They laughed and croaked in eager anticipation, sounding like a demented flock of ravens. They practically leaped out of the shadows they lurked in at her, crowing about how important a day it was. How much today could change destiny. Their slitted yellowed eyes bored into Bellatrix, following her in the most unsettling way. It didn’t make sense to Bellatrix, until suddenly it did. 

The snatchers of course, brought in their daily catch of dissenters and mudbloods. Only, this time they found the bloody sword of Gryffindor with a quad of teenagers. Two of whom were disfigured, but the other two were quite recognizable as Potty’s muddy little friend and her french veela girlfriend. 

Idly, Bellatrix had to sigh. The brunette was, if she’d do something about her hair (and maybe find something to eat) really quite pretty after all. All things being equal, she’d really rather like to play with the sweet young thing for a bit. It was a rare sort of mudblood that didn’t fall into Dumblebellend’s propaganda about dark creatures after all. By all accounts, despite being a light witch, she was fair and even handed to all types of creatures. Even if she was a goodie goodie know it all, at least she single handedly brought the IQ of Hogwarts up by about 10 points. What she’d heard about her in the death eater’s endless briefings about undesirables 1 through 4 honestly reminded Bella a bit of a frumpier, less circumspect Narcissa. 

And that was a high compliment from the dark witch.

Still, needs must after all. Even if she’d rather have the mudblood screaming her name for distinctly more pleasant reasons, her screaming in pain would pass the time regardless. She was a sadist after all, and the Dark Lord’s chief interrogator.

“Where did you get the sword!” Bellatrix screamed at the cute little tart, backing Hermione into a private room off the side of the Malfoy Manor’s dungeons. A casual backhanded slap sent the girl sprawling and Bella cracked that mad smirk that so unnerved all her little toys. The girl just glared back up at her from the ground in suppressed wide eyed fear. Those plump lips trembled on the edge of scream or a growl. One that Bella was only too happy to cause.

Bella struck, leaping forward to entwine their palms and pin the girl’s hands above her head. The lovely high pitched shriek from Hermione echoed through the small stone chamber. Nose to nose, Bella hovered just above Hermione, pausing to let her cheshire grin unnerve her target. Oh, that was the question wasn’t it. “What’s big old crazy Bella going to do to me” the girl had to be asking herself. A mad cackle built in the dark witch’s throat at the way Hermione’s gaze dilated and her pulse jumped. Desire filled Bellatrix and she wanted nothing more than to bite into that smooth column of flesh that made up her neck. Her blood pounded heavily in the veins and Bella felt a delightful thirst in her throat. 

And, if she was any judge of character, the horribly confused girl below here was very conflicted about the whole situation. Bella’s keen nose picked up the most delicious combination of fear, guilt and arousal wafting from her. 

Not one to avoid playing with her food, Bellatrix’s cackle turned to a vicious growl as she flashed her viciously sharp fangs. A quick move had them dragging harshing along the teen’s cheek, not quite breaking skin but forcing a pained yelp out of Hermione’s throat. The teen writhed and struggled underneath Bella’s muscled body, but was stuck fast in the vampire’s enhanced strength. Ever so slowly, the Dark Witch shifted their positions around, bringing both hands up to be held down by her left and digging her knee cruelly into the girl’s crotch. Hermione tried to buck her off, but Bellatrix just rolled with it and them slammed her knee down onto her cunt in retaliation. 

“Now, now pet, be a good girl and sit still while we have a little chat.” Bellatrix said with a delighted laugh at Hermione’s pained groaning.

“Fuck you, cunt!” Hermione yelled back, an impressively threatening growl ripping it’s way out of her throat. Still, naughty girls mustn’t be allowed to run rampant after all. In an instant Bella’s free hand snaked out to curl elegantly manicured fingers around Hermione’s pale neck. Sharp nails dug into smooth skin. The sharp, unmistakable scent of blood welled up as Hermione’s thrashing and screaming tore shallow cuts into her skin. 

“Don’t make me teach you respect, muddy. You will _not_ like the results. You _will_ tell me, one way or the other. This can either be a pleasant chat, or an interrogation. It’s up to you.” Bella purred smugly, leaning forward to lick some of the oozing blood away from her neck. 

Imagine her surprise therefore when the perfectly normal, perfectly mudblooded witch underneath her gave a bestial roar of fury and actually managed buck up and loosen Bella’s inhumanly strong grip. A flash of sharp fangs preceded Hermione’s face lunging forward, ripping a deep furrow in Bella’s cheek. 

Of course, it wasn’t enough to actually get Bella to let the poor young thing _go_ even with the momentary advantage of surprise. In short order she’d shifted their positions again, strengthening her grip to even more firmly pin the girl to the floor. Still, the feat of strength clearly showed Hermione was more than human, and Bella was even more impressed with her. 

Her eyebrows raised further when she took in Hermione’s new, bestial features. The swirling all black eyes, the lion’s muzzle, unbelievable soft golden fur and mane along with the tall spiralling goats horns atop her head. Bellatrix grinned happily. It had been decades since she’d met an actual tiefling, and they were such _pretty_ little monsters after all. Even among dark creatures they’d always been reclusive and rare. Preferring to hide and blend with the humans as much as possible. Only venturing back into magical society to occasionally feed on magical blood and keep their strength up. 

The stakes of discovery were higher for them after all. Vampires, veela and werewolves would just be fired from their jobs, driven from their homes or occasionally imprisoned if discovered. Daemon-spawn would be outright killed. 

Bellatrix sighed despondently. It really would be such a shame to kill a fellow dark creature, especially one so rare as this. Even if she did need the Dark Lord to win in order to reform the ministry, the man was entirely too cavalier with the lives of those who should support him. She had no doubt that a dark creature as learned and passionate as Hermione could be made to see reason eventually. With persuasion.

Then the world shifted on its axis. 

The oozing cut on Bella’s cheek was dripping blood freely. A fact which Bella was mostly unconcerned with. After all, she was hardly squeamish and blood was an everyday sight for her. She could only imagine that having her captor bleed all over her face would be at the very least unnerving for the witch. A tiefling might get a minor burst of strength or flash of the future from ingesting her blood, but it’d be nothing she couldn’t handle. Might even make the resulting interrogation more lively actually, and Bella had always been a bit of a thrillseeker. 

Only, the moment Bella’s dripping blood disappeared down Hermione’s gullet, the girl’s tense, struggling body went completely lax. Hermione’s eyes went glassy and relaxed, as if drugged. A shudder ran through her and the fear scent almost completely disappeared. Hermione gave a great shuddering moan as the scent of arousal, mixed with unspeakable _pain_ thickened in the room. 

“The Dark Lord falls. The Dark Lord falls. Death’s own wand obey’s only it’s true master. The deathstick shall betray him unto his death and the boy who lived shall conquer.” Hermione intoned, her voice thick and raspy. Her hazy eyes stared off into space, flicking left, right, up and down as if fixating onto a series of invisible scenes behind them.

Bellatrix gasped in shock as she reeled. Not only was the girl a tiefling, but a tiefling seer. While all daemon-spawn had some ability to penetrate the veil of fate, some were far more sensitive than others. That Hermione seemingly jumped into a vision weeks in advance at the drop of a hat, without prompting or proper sacrifice was astounding. Sure, Bella’s blood may be powerful, which would certainly affect the strength of the vision, but visions this clear were practically unheard of. Bellatrix was positively awed thinking of the power one could wield if they could properly manage and pamper such a seer. Forget wasteful, doing away with a creature as incredibly rare and valuable as this would be positively _criminal._

She decided in that moment, that Hermione was not going to die, whatever else happened. 

Still, a powerful tiefling seer predicting the Dark Lord was going to lose was beyond worrying. Bella had sunk far, far too much time and energy into this fight to lose. The lives and livelihoods of innumerable creatures depended upon his victory. Much as it pained her, she owed it to them to use every tool at her disposal to ensure the ministry would not rise again. 

The dark witch sprang into action, fishing her wand out of her sleeve and casting a quick sleeping spell to keep Hermione docile while she worked. She’d never performed the particular ritual she’d planned before, but it wasn’t exactly hard. Mostly there was just a lot of chanting in latin, inscribing circles of increasingly complex blood runes (preferably in the blood of a magical creature, ideally that of the caster, which was generally only done with access to blood replenishers), and a ritual sacrifice of blood to the seer. All of which she completed in short order. She did spare a second to charm and ward the door to screech and moan, just to avoid any curious looky loo’s from poking their noses in. 

None of the death eaters had the balls to tangle with Bella when her blood was up after all. 

With a wave of Bella’s wand, Hermione woke up chained and naked, bound to the makeshift altar on the floor, surrounded by complex spiraling circles of blood. 

“Wha- what happened? Bellatrix? What’s going on?!” The daemon-spawned girl said in panicked confusion. 

“The game’s shifted pet. Seers as sensitive as you don’t come around everyday. You and me are going to have a little chat, and we’re going to plan out how we’re going to fix this fucked up world.” Bella said, grinning at the bound daemon before her. 

“I’ll never help you!” Hermione growled out, thrashing against her restraints. Bella merely cracked an amused grin and the bestial roars and helplessly snapping teeth. 

“Oh dearie, the ritual takes care of that problem. Don’t you worry your pretty ickle head. Mistress Bella is going to take _good_ care of you.” The dark witch purred out, cackling at the shocked disbelief entering the girl’s expression. It was true too. While there were only so many ways to get wizards in the right minds to divulge information, seers in the throes of prophecy were another story. Their bodies and brains were designed to flood with chemicals to protect them from the violent overload of sensation, information and just plain ordinary pain. This all manifested as a confused state of euphoria, half sexual and half sensual. During which time they were incredibly susceptible to suggestion. With careful prompting and subtle compulsion magic one could guide and push them towards answering almost any question, whether willingly or not.

Yet more reason for tieflings to be so secretive and hidden, but a boon for her in this particular situation. 

With a crooked grin Bella slashed her wrist open with her favorite silver dagger. She brought the dripping limb up to Hermione’s mouth, rolling her eyes as the teen slammed her lips shut and refused to drink from her. Bellatrix tutted and gave Hermione’s nose a playful flick. It was trivial to use her other hand to hold shut Hermione’s nose until the girl was forced to open her mouth to suck in a desperate breath. Bella’s blood tumbled down the tiefling’s throat, sending the girl into the drugged haze of prophecy. The dark witch stood back, and sucked in a deep breath.

“Who is the true master of the deathstick. Speak prophet, and I shall listen!” Bellatrix commanded, her sonorous voice echoing in the small space. A tingle ran up and down her arms as the force of magic built up. Hermione’s eyes darted around briefly and her lips twitched. Clearly trying to hold in the words Bella knew were forcing themselves out of her mouth. 

To no avail though. 

“T-the d-dragon! The dragon disarmed the g-goat!” Hermione stuttered out, fighting in vain against the magic. 

Bellatrix reeled back despondently, knowing exactly what this meant. Draco, the darling apple of her Sister’s eye was the one who held the key to the war. If the Dark Lord ever learned this particular piece of information she knew that the teen wouldn’t survive the night. Cissy would never forgive her, and their family would likely recover. The question then, was whether or not that cost was worth the sacrifice. 

Everything in Bella recoiled against the idea of sacrificing what was left of their noble lineage, but...if it was the only way to ensure the survival of dark creatures, she might, just _might_ be willing to contemplate such a choice. Bellatrix had to be sure though. Absolutely sure. She trusted the Dark Lord, she did, but she’d been lied to so many times throughout her life. As much as he seemed to understand her, to stand by her, to truly _see_ her where nobody else did, some part of her could not truly give him unquestioning loyalty.

“If the Dark Lord masters the deathstick and wins the war, what happens to the house of Black? To the dark creatures of the world? Speak prophet and I shall listen!” Bellatrix asked, voice pained and sad, hating to even ask the question about one she knew she could trust. 

This time the girl stared off into space for an achingly long minute. Bloody tears ran down her face as her eyes flashed and darted around through endless visions. Bellatrix truly felt sorry for needing answers to the questions she did. She couldn’t imagine processing potentially years worth of the web of fate would be kind on Hermione’s mind, sanity and body. Not to mention that all that history has to be bloody, desperate and violent. 

“The...the…” Hermione started to say, before trailing off, her voice a drugged slur. Bellatrix forced more of her blood down the girl’s throat to give her the strength to continue. 

“The snake eats its own tail! The Dark Lord reigns in vicious order for a time. Betrayal, murder, death, destruction! Paranoia never ending, wars never truly won. New enemies around every corner, under every rock. Rewards won in battle taken back on a whim. A regime collapses, the great houses disappear like dust in the wind and society falls into chaos.” Hermione sobbed out, curling in on herself and shuddering in pain. 

And Bellatrix’s world, her goals and her dreams collapsed around her. 

It was all for _nothing._ Every second of agony trapped on Azkaban. Every moment debasing herself in her lord service to pompous noble gits. Every moment holding her tongue. Every moment being “patient.” Every moment “trusting him” to “eventually take care of” the “poor creatures of the world”.

Pointless.

“What happens if the light wins? To the House of Black and the creatures of the world? Speak prophet and I shall listen.” Bellatrix asks, because there _has_ to be a better option out there. 

This time, Hermione is silent for even longer. Her face flashes between innumerable emotions. Happiness, relief, hope, shock, betrayal, fear, anger and then finally into devastated apathy. A subtle push of Bella’s magic has her opening her mouth once more. 

“Hope. A new way forward. Well meaning naivety rules the day. The biggest secret of the world revealed haphazardly. Fear begets war. War begets genocide and retribution. Bombs fall. All is still, silent and dust. Magic itself dies.” Hermione whispers, voice devastated, but filled with all the power of a crack of lightning. 

No. 

**No.**

NONONONONONONONONO!!!!!

Bellatrix refused to believe that those were the only two options. One way or the other there _had_ to be a better option. 

“What could the House of Black do to ensure wizarding society and the creatures therein survive? Speak prophet and I shall listen.” Bella asked, determination ringing in her voice. 

This time Hermione trailed off, staring into the future for a good five minutes, casting further and further afield. She hoped it was because the girl was just following down the path of the future further to see a good outcome, rather than their just not being a future wherein magic survives. Bella had to exert all of her self control to avoid tapping her foot impatiently. Prophecy involved a good amount of pomp and circumstance, and she didn’t want to interrupt Hermione’s search for another option. Finally the prophet broke her silence.

“An alliance struck. The lion, the veela and raven come together as one unit. The monsters that go bump in the night ally together, toppling the Dark One and seizing the reins. All who would stand against them tremble in fear, but a triangle of strength ensures a stable and fair foundation, even for their enemies.” Hermione slurred tiredly, before slumping down in her bonds and bursting into overwhelmed tears. 

Bella gave the teen a soft smile, quickly muttering the counter incantation to disperse the power of the ritual. Unused as she was to giving comfort, it seemed like she had to make at least a token effort. Kneeling down she gently threaded her hand through Hermione’s thick mane of hair, grinning as the daemon-spawn gave an exhausted purr. Idly, she conjured a pillow and a big fuzzy sheet for her and cast warming charms on both. 

“Rest pet, you’ve done well. We’ll figure this thing out in the morning. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’m gonna go have a chat with your little girlfriend.” Bellatrix said lightly. 

Hermione’s eyes snapped open, staring at her in fear.

“Oh, hush kitty. It’s just gonna be a friendly heart to heart. It’s not like I’m gonna go off and snog her to seal the alliance or anything.” Bella said with a wink.

Hermione’s distrustful glare had her cackling as Bella sauntered out of the room and warded it behind her.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> DUM DUM DUM!!!!!!


End file.
